


into each life some rain must fall

by ClockworkDinosaur (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Nostalgia, One Shot, Post-Game, Radiation Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ClockworkDinosaur
Summary: With a disdainful look towards the window, she waved a hand. “Y'know... fuck that,” she said.“Whatdya mean?” Hancock asked.“I mean, what isn't trying to kill you out there? What with raiders and greenskins and fuckin' Deathclaws, you'd think the weather could cut us a break.”





	into each life some rain must fall

**Author's Note:**

> 3am drabble because i've been doing nothing but playing fallout 4 all day for like...... an entire week. sole is nameless here so you can project your own sole if you want ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Radiation storms were no nonexistent skin off of Hancock's rotted away nose. Just outside of the abandoned military bunker, green clouds hung low and heavy over the Commonwealth, bringing burning rain and wind that could flay the wind off of his traveling companion in a minute.

Said traveling partner was making herself comfortable, clearly prepared to hide out in the concrete bunker for the night. Her heavy armor laid discarded on top of a dented metal desk, but her .50 caliber sniper rifle was still within arms reach. She kicked her feet up on a ratty bed, the rusted springs protesting her weight. With her old army fatigues she looked strangely at home.

“Real comfortable,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words. “All I need is a silk pillow and I'd think I'm at the Ritz.”

Those references to the world she had once lived in were endearing in a way, even if they usually went over his head. Hancock leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and giving the place a critical eye.

“Well, it ain't no Rexford, but it'll do,” he said dismissively. She snorted as she sat up to a chorus of squealing springs.

“I guess it's my fault for dragging a ghoul with such refined tastes along,” she said with a shake of her head and not a hint of seriousness.

She stood and brightened the flickering lantern, illuminating the shadows that hid the corners of the room. Long dead computer consoles with darkened lights and dust-clogged dials lined the walls, their panels torn apart by age and animals. File cabinets with missing a few drawers occupied one corner, clearly interesting enough to draw her attention for a while.

Hancock made himself comfortable, sitting in the creaking wooden desk chair and propping his feet up on the desk. He wasn't keen on sitting around for the night, but the storm outside was raging, promising hours of radiation deadly to his human friend.

After so long traveling with her, he was used to her eccentricities. Her insistence on visiting the Red Rocket just outside of Sanctuary every so often to unload unnecessary loot, her ever present need to move and explore every building they stumbled upon despite the dangers that could lie in wait inside, and her constant errand-running for the Railroad and Minutemen alike.

Really though, he didn't mind. He's been alive for a long time but he had never seen more of the Commonwealth than he had with her. This life on the road, helping settlements and displaced Synths, was one that he found pretty agreeable.

It helped that she tossed any scavenged chems his way too.

“Jackpot,” she muttered, kicking a cabinet drawer closed and holding up two bottles of whiskey up with a triumphant expression. Hancock sat up, clapping his hands together.

“Now we're talkin'. Here I thought we'd be watching the paint peel until we passed out from boredom.”

She set the bottles down on the desk with a _clink._ “Like you don't have enough Jet on you to keep you entertained for a week,” she scoffed, pulling up a second chair across from him.

“A week? You overestimate me,” Hancock said as she opened the first bottle and took a swig. She grimaced as she passed the bottle. He grinned and took his own sip. Not exactly his first choice of recreational substance, but despite her joke it was the only one he had. They had to restock in Goodneighbor soon.

She took another, deeper drink and set the bottle down. With a disdainful look towards the window, she waved a hand. “Y'know... fuck that,” she said.

“Whatdya mean?” Hancock asked.

“I mean, what isn't trying to kill you out there? What with raiders and greenskins and fuckin' Deathclaws, you'd think the weather could cut us a break.” She scowled out the window despite its metal shutters. Hancock snorted.

“Welcome to the wasteland,” he said, taking the bottle and toasting her.

Sometimes it was easy to forget she wasn't raised with it. When her face is set with stony determination while taking down raiders with ease, when she jumps over cars long stilled, when she picks Bloatflies out of the air with deadly efficiency... it all seemed second nature to her.

But sometimes he was reminded of the world she came from, the world she lost.

Taking another drink, he tilted his head at her. “So, what do ya miss?” he asked. “Y'know, from before.”

She laughed once, bitterly. “Where do I begin,” she said. She grabbed the bottle and drank deeply before speaking again. She was well on her way to getting drunk, and her words had begun to soften at the edges.

“I guess the obvious answer is Nate. Helluva guy.”

She said it so mechanically, almost as if on impulse. Hancock leaned forward. “Are you sayin' that because it's true, or because you feel you gotta?” he asked. She met his eyes. Stared him down for a minute before sighing and looking away.

“He really was great, good husband and good father... but I'm not sure he would've survived out here. Not that he was soft, but he did stick to the rules, and we both know those don't matter much anymore. 'Course, I never thought I'd be able to deal with this shit back then.” She took another drink, staring into the flickering flame of the lantern. “I do miss him, but he's from a world that's gone. It feels too distant now.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and nostalgic. Hancock hadn't meant to bring the mood down. He drank again, the bottle nearly empty, and hoped this mood would pass quickly.

“Rain,” she said eventually. “I miss rain. I mean, normal storms. Back then it was still pretty damn acidic, but nothing like how it is now. You could still go out without worryin' about your armor getting eaten through.”

She spared another disgusted look at the metal shudders. “And there were never any radiation storms to worry about it. Give me a torrent of acid rain over that bullshit any day.”

Taking the bottle, she finished it off in one gulp. Her eyes were glassy, face drawn and sad.

“I shouldnt've asked,” Hancock sighed. She shrugged.

“I don't mind. 's better than never talking about it.”

The storm raged outside, wind howling around the concrete walls that had stood through the end of the world, through hundreds of years of a world rebuilding. Houses crumbled every day but the bunker was made of studier stuff.

She broke the silence after what felt like ages. “I don't think I miss it all that much though,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Look what I've got now. You, my best friend watching my back. Shawn, even if he is... y'know. Everyone else back at HQ and the Castle, all those people I've helped... Not saying how I ended up here is ideal but I can say I'm makin' the best of it.”

“I'll drink to that,” Hancock said as he opened the second bottle.

“You do that,” she said as she stood, just a bit unsteady on her feet as she made her way towards the bed. “That just means you get first watch.”

“Goddammit,” Hancock sighed as she smirked.

“G'night, Hancock.”

“Night.”

 


End file.
